The art of making money

Last Friday in Paris I witnessed an interesting phenomenon. One person transformed an athletics meeting as no other could. With crowds at athletics events generally on the wane, particularly in apathetic countries such as France, in excess of 40,000 filled the bottom two layers of the impressive Stade de France for the Diamond League series. The one man was, of course, Usain Bolt. Because of his participation in an event that would last for less than 10 seconds, this large crowd sat through three hours of top class athletics just two weeks before the European Championships.
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If Bolt had not been competing I doubt whether 10,000 would have turned up. The whole meeting was set up around him, with a couple of side issues in his race. His first head to head in 2010 with his countryman and fastest in the world this year, Asafa Powell, was set up to be a 'monumental' clash according to Athletics Weekly. And standing between these two muscle bound Jamaican monsters on the start line was France's new pin-up, the diminutive Christof Lemaitre, who recently became the first white man to break 10 seconds. Of course the race was slightly anti-climactic with Bolt winning relatively comfortably in 9.84, (positively pedestrian !). But that wasn't the point. The showmanship and electricity produced by Bolt (slight pun there, sorry) in the last two years has created a new audience for the sport on the back of his incredible world records, particularly his unbelievable 9.58. Yes, some people question whether he is clean, particularly given the bad press the Jamaican team are currently getting, but this guy was something special as a 15 year old and has revolutionised sprinting in the way that Dick Fosbury and Bob Beamon did many moons ago.
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The whole of Paris was talking Bolt whilst I was there. All the billboards had his familiar signature lightning bolt pose; a special Jamaican festival was set up in front of the vast Hotel de Ville the night before the race (Usain was there of course), where rum was drunk, dancing was constant and visitors were able to race a machine that ran at Bolt's 9.58 pace; Bolt was on the front pages of the papers photographed at Paris' top night club where the likes of Rafa Nadal and Hollywood 'A' listers had been in recent weeks, and most importantly, people were talking athletics.

Many sportsmen are vastly overpaid but it is easy to see why Bolt gets the big bucks: the event promoters and tv companies love him. He is single handedly keeping the sport's head above water. Just seeing the masses percolating out of the metro station towards the stadium, like oil leaking in the Gulf of Mexico, made me realise we have to be thankful for the likes of Bolt. Whether he'll ever get back to world record form I have my doubts - he's lapping up the superstar lifestyle and may struggle to sustain his brilliance, there are already signs of the actual running becoming almost an irritant.
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Highlight of the meeting for me was the women's high jump where the cloned long-legged Russian blondes gradually crashed out, leaving a great head to head between the charismatic American Chaunte Howard-Lowe and the crowd manipulator Blanka Vlasic, who eventually prevailed with 2.02, having been behind at one stage. It was wonderful to be engrossed in the developing event without being whisked away for another banal Jonathan Edwards / Colin Jackson love-in. There was lots of other good stuff to fill the evening, and some bad - the Russian Alminova storming to victory in the women's 1500 (3.57) having just come off a drugs ban - but despite my ongoing health issues, I came away from the meet feeling pretty good for a change.

To be sure

Along with an array of elite athletes from around the world, I flew into Cork last weekend. They went north from the airport to take part in the Cork City Sports, where, despite a blustery wind, some fine times were achieved. In a metaphor for my running these days, I went south in my hire car and didn't run a step for the five days Claudie and I spent in the emerald isle. We had an idyllic short break staying at my sister's remote house, Tig Na Carrige (pictured) at Toormore, near Mizen Head, Ireland's equivalent of our own Land's End. Whilst at Mizen Head we were approached by two emaciated guys asking if we could give them a lift to the nearest main town, Schull. They'd just cycled from the north of the island and in their words never wanted to get on a f****** bike again.


Despite being in an area with a low population density, I was surprised at the number of people we saw out running. Not top athletes training hard but just locals or tourists, often overweight, doing their daily workout along the country lanes. It's great to see so many people putting on their trainers and not being villified as we used to be 30 years ago. This is mirrored at running clubs up and down the country nowadays: where there would have been a hardy dozen working out at a Tuesday or Wednesday club session in the past you now see 60 or 70, most of whom will rarely or never race other than perhaps for a charity 5k or maybe the London Marathon in the unlikely event of them being accepted under the ballot system. Running clubs have changed massively and the sport has become a leisure activity for middle aged people aware of health issues, rather than in such as football, cricket, rugby, cycling where one joins a club to be competitive. I don't have an issue with this, it is merely an observation.
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I'm currently enjoying the best sport on tv at the moment: the Tour de France is a fantastic event and the production of it on tv is superb. It's a real antidote to the banal World Cup where players feigned injury at the merest touch from an opponent. Most of the riders in France appear to have gauze over arms & legs where they've fallen at 60kph and just got back on their bikes. A phenomenal sport despite ongoing drugs issues which will probably never be fully resolved. Part of the allure of the great coverage over the years has been the double act commentary team of Phil Liggett and ex-pro Paul Sherwen. They have always got the balance right between explaining what's going on, taking in the beautiful surroundings, introducing some humour and avoiding any patronising rubbish that sometimes comes with watching events like the London Marathon. I don't know whether others agree, however, but I get the feeling that Liggett is now just a bit past his best and makes a lot of mistakes. The winner? I'd go for Contador to continue the Spanish domination of sport this year (and how about Sergio Garcia as an outsider at St Andrews?).
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Blogstar this week has to be Fred Robson. Fred, who turns 80 on 10.10.10 has been running marathons for 60 years and flew out to Finland last week to run in the Parvo Nurmi Marathon in Turku (he ran this race last year and finished despite temperatures in the mid 30ºCs). "There's some decent money on offer in the age groups, David" he told me with a scheming voice, "so I think it's a good one to do, especially if it's not too hot." Unfortunately his flight was delayed by many hours and he didn't reach his destination until 4am on the day of the race. He sensibly decided just to run in the accompanying 10k, once again in 33ºC temps and won his age group. I think his secret is Guinness as he always seems to have a glass of the dark stuff in his hand. Which brings me back to Ireland last weekend ... ah the Murphys was silky smooth.

Random observations

The object of this blog when I set it up last year was to present weekly observations on the running scene through my eyes and around my own training & racing. That's gone belly up (or, more accurately, belly out!) because of my injury, although I'm still involved through coaching & mentoring. The only trouble with this is the lack of control - you can help and advise until the cows come home but once the start gun goes off you lose all semblance of control. All very nerve wracking & frustrating. So some random thoughts whilst we are in the midst of this beautiful summer weather, a football world cup throwing up surprises and a crazy Wimbledon fortnight.

I recently read this quote by Brian Moore, the former England rugby hooker: "I love the French. This least likely of statements is not said in jest; it is borne out of a continuing realisation that in many facets of life, such as health, education, food, social cohesion, work-life balance and so on, I find myself admitting that they have got it right and the rest of the world, which they resolutely refuse to follow, has got it wrong." He then related this to the attitude of the French - the gallic shrug - in rugby. I have to say that I agree wholeheartedly with Moore's sentiments - not just because I have a French wife - and fully intend being part of all that when I retire to that part of the world. The non-conformist side of things has been witnessed this week with the French football team and in that amazing world record tennis match. Nicolas Mahut didn't come out with the usual sound bites that modern sportsmen are sadly programmed to utter, but merely stated what he really thought about things (basically he was cheesed off to have lost, hardly surprising when you've successfully served to stay in the match 64 times - all that effort for nothing). He also appeared totally underwhelmed afterwards by the presentation of a momento to celebrate the match. I hate it when modern football/rugby/cricket players are wheeled out to give the party line on the state of play. Thankfully the trackside interviews in athletics, usually mundane in the extreme and always far too soon after the event, sometimes throw up some cracking banter - the 110m hurdler after last year's world champs immediately springs to mind, as does any interview with Dean Macey - and I like nothing better than an interviewer to say what a great race it was and the athlete replying that he thought it was crap! The new UK chief of athletics, Van Commence, is like that and it's a breath of fresh air: BBC man, 'the plucky Brit did really well to finish 4th, you must be very happy' ... VC, 'no, she got the pace completely wrong in the first lap, was boxed in and ran out of options. This makes me angry.' Love it.

Observations on the football? Well, I'm afraid it's a game I no longer enjoy watching and the xenophobia that accompanies world cups completely turns me off. Watching the delightful passing, changes in pace, vision and pure natural ball skills of the South Americans makes it worth watching but I can't get excited beyond that. England appear to be throttled by the fear of error based on the ridiculous expectation heaped on the team. One thought, which doesn't appear to have been mentioned at all: why is David Beckham sitting in the dugout looking like a tailor's dummy in his awful three piece M&S suit? What possible use is he with the squad, other than a diversion?

July promises to be a busy month for me with trips lined up to Ireland (my sister's house on the remote but beautiful south coast of Co. Cork); Paris, to see Natalie and take in the Diamond League athletics meeting, and Barcelona for the European Athletics Champs where it will be too hot for marathon running!

No blogstar this time but instead just a few words about the passing of a great sportsman. Andy Ripley sadly died at the age of 62 last week. That's no age these days but boy did he pack a lot into those years: international rugby player, athlete & rower; excelled also at sailing, triathlon, basketball, tennis & water skiing; qualified canoe instructor; won the BBC Superstars; fluent linguist; gained a MPhil from Cambridge University at 50 (an age when he narrowly missed selection for the University boat race) and even had time to make a fortune in the City. He enjoyed life and sport to the full, something that the professional sporting world has sadly but inevitably lost. With his long hair and rugged face he resembled the great French film actor Gerard Depardieu - perhaps GD will play him in what surely must be the inevitable film of Ripley's life. RIP Andy, you were the last of the great true all round amateur sportsmen.

Guinness is good for you

"As highly-tuned athletes, we appreciate the necessity of treating our bodies with respect and the importance of ensuring proper replacement of nutrients after running. Consequently our Wednesday evening training is followed by an intensive "rehydration" session in one of the local hostelries (Guinness and London Pride are particularly popular) coupled with very good value high carbohydrate replacement foods (such as egg, chips & beans)." Marlborough Running Club's website somehow encapsulates what the sport should be all about and what, sadly, has been lost in recent times. It was certainly the reason that I joined a club back in the 70's. It also probably explains why Keith Firkin is now a member!

If any reader feels that this blog doesn't satiate their need for digesting inconsequential nonsense then I have just the answer: http://www.runnersblogs.blogspot.com/ is a site set-up for insomniacs who can't get enough of running blogs. It's a dumping ground for all types of running blogs, mine included, covering many aspects of the sport under various headings: Host Athlete; Elite Athlete; Humorous; Other Athlete (I know my place and should be thankful to still be categorised as athlete) and Other Blogs. There's some good topical stuff, with some great anecdotes on our sport, as well as plenty of dross. Some of them are almost as interesting as my blog.

Blogstar this week: Rob Forbes decided to watch England play in the World Cup in South Africa. He set off from Cirencester about eight months ago ... on his bike! 19,500km later he arrived in South Africa, via a 20km swim across the straits of Gibraltar, and promptly ran the Comrades Ultra Marathon from the high veldt of Pietermaritzburg to Durban with 23,500 others, a mere 89km (56 miles). And he performed superbly: at 23 he's only run one marathon before (2.45 at Berlin) so to complete the course 846th in 7:48:39 (3:40 marathon pace) was impressive indeed. A truly epic journey which you can read more about on http://www.tri4africa.co.uk/

Wednesday

So many endurance athletes struggle with Wednesday's training. To me it is the key day of the week but it is also the hardest to get right. The theory is do a track session on a Tuesday and maybe a fartlek or hill session on a Thursday. Most of us work during the day and might be able to get out for a 40 minute run at lunchtime at best. But if serious about performing at the marathon, a long midweek run is crucial and for most, doing this during the lunch hour is just not viable. So that leaves the evening and a 90 minute plus run after work is not an exciting proposition...

I promised a couple of posts ago to publish my old training schedule. This would make for too much excitement for one blog so instead I shall drip feed the reader with some of the finer points of a highly scientific process that took place through the late 70's and the 80's. Here is Wednesday.

Ranelagh's club night was a Wednesday, unusual as most clubs meet for a Tuesday night session. The faster runners would meet independently on a Tuesday for hills (plenty of them in Richmond) in winter and on an old gravel track at Harlequins' Rugby ground, The Stoop (this was a run down place before the onset of professional rugby union and is now much changed and has no track) in summer, followed by a few pints of Fullers in Twickenham.

Ranelagh's clubhouse - a corrugated iron shed when I first joined but then converted into a fine building thanks to a wonderfully generous legacy from a former member, Harry Sheer (a great cricketing chum of mine) - is set in the car park of The Dysart Arms pub opposite Richmond Park. Many a happy hour was spent in the pub on Wednesday evenings and on Saturdays after races when I used to help behind the bar. It was a good old fashioned pub with both a saloon and public bar, where the beer was cheaper, and a great landlord, Jim, who fully embraced the club and even came away on our annual outlying run weekend to Oxfordshire (best not to get into what happened on those trips in this blog ... oh dear!). The pub was featured in the opening credits of this year's London Marathon TV coverage when Sue Barker charted the initial discussions on the viability of the race that were held in the pub with the likes of Chris Brasher, John Disley and me! Sadly the pub has now been converted into Dysarts, a bistro type place with lousy beer, no atmosphere and a frosty relationship between pub & club (members drink at the top of Richmond Hill nowadays). A sad but inevitable consequence of today's society I guess.

Anyway, I digress. We met at 6pm on Wednesdays - it was always a struggle for me to get there, having commuted home from London then driven to Richmond. As a consequence of ongoing continuous heavy training I always felt like a zombie before Wednesday runs - possibly this was partly psychosomatic as I pondered the evening run - to the extent that it was a struggle to even jog at first, such was my weariness. Thankfully the others would be feeling the same and the first couple of miles along the flat paths in the park leading towards Kingston gate were always painfully slow with a lot of idle chat. But this was the perfect way to get into the run ...

As we approached Kingston the chat would gradually fade away and imperceptibly the pace start to pick up. No-one would say anything about this, it all happened naturally (there were no coaches in those days telling us to pick up the pace blah, blah, blah). By the time we reached a good hill just after the gate we were starting to really move, and off the top of the hill we were in top gear and absolutely flying. This hard threshold pace would be sustained to Robin Hood gate where, having done a couple of miles at pace we dropped down to a jog and regrouped. We started up again along the meadows towards Roehampton and the pace soon picked up; this time we sustained what must have been sub five minute miling all the way back to Richmond gate, another 2-3 miles. The lap of the park was about eight miles; we'd then regroup and add a few miles down into Richmond and back along the Thames towpath, generally at a good steady six minute miling, giving us about 13-14 miles in total. This was a hard session but so rewarding - the beer always tasted good afterwards as we chatted away into the evening.

This type of run is absolutely vital to a marathoner's armoury yet almost impossible to replicate. I tried it a couple of times a year or so ago on unsuspecting clubmates at Cirencester and it worked, but in today's regimented and structured coach induced training sessions this type of run cannot be categorised. It was all about feel and natural inclinations and was dictated somewhat by extreme weariness of the runners. Perhaps this is the problem today, runners don't experience that total wipeout fatigue that makes just walking a few strides so difficult. I wish I could bottle what I experienced all those years ago on a Wednesday evening and sprinkle it on today's runners.

My Blog Hero of the week (a new idea): Martin Croucher (see Jon Young's picture), fresh from taking part in the Two Oceans 36 miler in Cape Town, South Africa (a race I did a few years ago and would recommend to anyone, it knocks spots off London, NY etc), won the local Parkrun 5km race last Saturday. He doesn't profess to being a top athlete but just loves the sport - the fact that he's run races dressed up as various cartoon characters attests to this. He wrote a lovely piece for the Ciren AC website about surprisingly finding himself in the lead and how he dealt with it. This was his first ever race win and is something he'll never forget. Well done mate, thoroughly deserved and one to dine out on for years to come.

New target

I have only finished 20 marathons since my first one as a 19 year old in 1976, some 34 years ago. Given that I went through a phase of doing 3 or 4 a year in the mid 80's that leaves a lot of gaps. This week I read in Athletics Weekly that only a select few runners in the world have completed a sub 3 hour marathon in five separate decades. At London last weekend the first two Britons were added to this small group: Chris Finill who has run in all 30 Londons, and my old combatant from school days (he was at Roan, nr Greenwich, me Raynes Park), Steve Smythe. Steve won't thank me for reproducing this picture of the two of us battling it out in the Mitcham 25km in January 1981 (the Ranelagh gazette records that there was a strong northerly wind and a mid-race snow blast, hence the socks on my hands [running gloves hadn't been invented then nor colour photography it seems]).

This got me thinking and so I dusted off my old running records: had I run a marathon each decade? I knew that I went 10 years and then 15 years avoiding the classic distance, so wasn't sure how the dates slotted in. It transpires that I have indeed run marathons in four consecutive decades, the 70's (5), 80's(12), 90's(1) and 00's(2), all at 2.47 or faster, as recorded elsewhere on this blog. So I now have a new challenge: to run a sub 3 hour marathon this decade and maintain my long standing duel with Steve (he ran 2.46 last week). It was only a year ago that I ran 2.47 at Lochaber but, of course, it feels a lot longer than that given what has happened since. But surely I can muster up enough energy to potter round in sub 7's for a 2.50 something over the next 9½ years.

Whilst delving deep into my past I found this old picture from the last mile of the New York City Marathon 1981 (2:26). I might be biased having run six of them, but there is no doubt in my mind that this is the greatest of the city marathons - there is something special about the course, not least the fact that it goes through all five boroughs from Staten Island through Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan and The Bronx ("you're in The Bronx now man so you gotta run fast" was the rather frightening proclamation on a banner at the 20 mile mark one year). Standing on the start line you can just about make out the famous Manhattan skyline (changed, sadly, since I was last there) on a clear day, and that's where you are headed. It's tough because it wasn't designed to be fast as later city marathons like London were, but as a consequence takes in all the best bits (and some of the worst, see above!), including the magnificent views onto Manhattan across the Queensboro' bridge and the delights of the rolling hills in Central Park for the last few miles.

Finally, great news from the selectors at uk:a after London on Sunday (you don't often hear that), so everything now geared towards Barcelona in July = hot!

Parkrun fun

Swindon now hosts a Parkrun every Saturday morning, in Lydiard Park; they've spread like wild fire since Ranelagh club mate Paul Sinton-Hewitt started them up a few short years back. Simple format: register your name, turn up for 9am any Saturday at any venue (see excellent Parkrun website) and run 5km. Time and position recorded and published online usually before you get home, along with all sorts of statistics and photos. All free of charge.

Despite, or perhaps because of, my pathetic lack of fitness, I've pitched up for a few of these and absolutely loved their informality, the first one was won by a guy running with his dog. What a wonderful antidote to the commercial brashness of this weekend's over-populated London Marathon. Cirencester's Adrian Williams won today's race in a course record 16:35 - he's had quite a week, his first ever race win last Sunday, at the Highworth 5, today's course record and sandwiched between the two his 35th birthday. On top of all that he's just succumbed to Facebook!

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The only danger of Parkrun is in its popularity. At some of the bigger venues, turnouts are regularly over 200 and a breed of runner is evolving who never runs anything but Parkruns, their sole aim in life being to achieve a t-shirt for running 50, 100, 250 even 500 of the things. This is having an impact on some clubs; I know at Ranelagh, which has a full fixture list through the winter (championship, league, mob, inter-club, handicap races), many members are doing the Parkruns instead. These runs are certainly great fun and to be fully encouraged whether for serious racing, coming back from injury or just for exercise with the dog/child, but a thriving club scene is vital for the longevity of our wonderful sport.

3 miles is my absolute limit at the moment: as well as my osteitis causing pain in the abdomen and adductors, my Achilles aches like hell (thought having time off would ease that) and my arthritic hip is causing me all sorts of problems. Add in constant headaches and feeling that I've been dragged through a hedge backwards (wouldn't mind if it was off 80 miles a week, not 12), and it's no surprise that I'm struggling. I'm getting out for 15-20 mins a few times a week, which is at least giving me some fresh air & exercise and has stopped my weight gain.

Talking of weight, I was particularly pleased that I didn't put any on a couple of weeks ago after a big 50th birthday party of an old school friend in London. I had a few drinks for the first time this year and apart from feeling a bit weary the next morning (!) I still went for an easy run; it felt like the old days when a Saturday afternoon race was followed by a few pints then the long Sunday run chatting to friends about the night before, if remembered. Highlight of the party came when the birthday girl tried to guess Claudie's age and underestimated it by 12 years (all started when she said to Claudie, "your turn next"!). It certainly made her feel good about her dieting - yes, she's been losing weight (lots of) while I've been adding it.

There will be a lot of nervous runners (& non-runners) tonight with the marathon on in the morning. Good luck to all, especially from Ranelagh / Cirencester, at least the weather is looking good this year. I had planned to be up there but Michelle pulled out with injury on Friday, very frustrating. Sweating on Monday's selection meeting now.

Finally, my best wishes go to a good running friend, Tim Willson, following his minor heart scare this week. He's a great guy with a wicked sense of humour and may he soon be back to full health & fitness. Tim isn't on Facebook but his Cockerel, Roger (see picture), is and has many friends including, sadly, me.